


Frontline Plus for Large Dogs

by thesentimentalist



Series: Summer of Stupid 2020 [1]
Category: teen wolf - Fandom
Genre: As the On Ramp to the Highway to a Relationship, Awkward Conversations, Bathing/Washing, Father-Son Relationship, Full Werewolfery, Humor, Just Roll With It, M/M, Magical Werewolf Fleas, Not so Much Pre-Slash, Slice of Life, Summer of Stupid 2020, canon WHOMST, weird intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:07:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesentimentalist/pseuds/thesentimentalist
Summary: Stiles6:02 PM> can werewolves get fleas?6:18 PM>derek6:19 PM>derekWhat are you talking about < 6:30PM6:39 PM>interpretive dance derek.6:39 PM>Just answer the question.Why do you ask? <6:40PM6:40 PM>oh godThe pack gets Magical Werewolf Fleas. Stiles has to suplex Derek into a kiddy pool full of soapy water.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Summer of Stupid 2020 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1867057
Comments: 10
Kudos: 200





	Frontline Plus for Large Dogs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SalamanderJones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SalamanderJones/gifts).



It all started a few nights after the full moon. Stiles was at the grocery store, stocking up on hydrogen peroxide. He cleaned up a lot of blood, ok? 

Anyway, he was in the first aid aisle when he saw Derek leaning forward to look at the contents of the shelf. He assumed a crouched posture, gently lowered his shopping basket to the ground, and began creeping up on him. It was impossible for him to sneak up on Derek, of course, but Derek let him try anyway. It was a little game they played. 

So he was surprised that when he lept onto Derek’s back, Derek shot up straight, like he was startled. 

“Jesus Christ Stiles!” He said, his arms automatically moving under Stiles’s knees to support his weight. 

“Just Stiles,” Stiles said, “whatcha doing?”

He looked over Derek’s shoulder at the shelf. It had cortisone, bug bite cream, and jock itch powder.

“Got jock itch again?” he asked, louder than necessary. 

“I will drop you.” Said Derek. 

Stiles let go of Derek and landed on his feet. 

“It’s been great chatting with you Derek, but I have to go home and make dinner. Let’s do this again sometime.” He said, and walked off. 

. . .

Scott scratched his armpit, jostling Isaac, who jostled Erica, who jostled Boyd. 

The pack had gathered to do their homework in Stiles’ room, which meant there was a big puppy pile surrounded by notes, binders, laptops and the odd library book on his floor.

Scott scratched his armpit again, more vigorously. 

“Are you ok? Stiles asked. 

“Yeah I’m fine. Just itchy,” Scott said, “What European country first started cultivating potatoes ag–.” 

He stopped mid sentence and used his incredible werewolf agility to reach over his shoulder and start mauling his own back. 

Erica chuckled, “Maybe you have fleas.”

Scott laughed, stopped abruptly, and turned to look at Stiles, still itching. 

Stiles stared back. 

. . . 

6:02 PM> can werewolves get fleas? 

6:18 PM>derek 

6:19 PM>derek 

What are you talking about < 6:30PM

6:39 PM>interpretive dance derek. 

6:39 PM>Just answer the question. 

Why do you ask? <6:40PM

6:40 PM>oh god 

. . . 

“So here’s the situation,” Stiles said to the assembled pack, “Scott has fleas, which means the rest of you probably have fleas too.”

Erica scratched at her scalp. 

“So me and Allison,” he said, gesturing to her, “are going to wash everybody with some dish soap. That should take care of the problem.”

Allison wiggled a bottle of dish soap. 

“Ladies first.” She said, “come on Erica.”

She pulled her to her feet and they headed off to the bathroom. 

“Why can’t we just wash our hair in human form?” Boyd asked, crinkling his nose. 

“You know, I asked Derek and he said ‘it doesn’t work.’ I have questions. Lots of questions. Are they werefleas? Do they go into hammerspace when you shift? Science does not have an explanation for this phenomena.”

“That’s so weird.” said Isaac, and dug his fingers into his ear, “Where is Derek anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Stiles, “I texted him, but he hasn’t responded.”

Isaac pulled his finger out of his ear. 

“Hey! I caught one!” 

Boyd and Scott made noises of disgust and scooched away from him. 

Stiles handed him a bottle of soapy water. 

“Put it in this you degenerate.”

. . . 

8:00 PM > hey where are you?

Running errands.< 8:03 PM

8:05 PM>well swing by when

you’re done. We’ve

defleaed everyone else.

Read at 8:28 PM<

. . . 

Stiles showed up at Derek’s loft on Sunday with a bucket, some brushes, and a bottle of dish soap on Sunday. He knocked on the door. Nobody answered. 

“Derek, I know you’re in there,” he said, “I can hear the tv.” 

He thought he heard a muffled swear. Derek didn’t answer the door though. 

“You can’t hide forever.” Stiles said. 

. . . 

“Derek is avoiding me because he doesn’t want to get a flea bath.” Stiles said.

“Yeah?” Scott said around a mouthful of chips. 

“Which is weird, because he has to be itching like hell at this point.” continued Stiles.

“Maybe he feels weird about it.” Scott said. 

“How so?”

“Maybe he’s just modest. Just because we’ve been friends since we were three, and been on the lacrosse team together, and don’t care about seeing each other’s dicks doesn’t mean everyone is ok with you getting up close and personal with their nads. I mean think about it. Sure, none of the rest of the pack has shame, but we weren’t born werewolves, and let’s face it: none of us are the best socialized human beings either.”

The girl sitting at the other end of the bench gave them a confused side eye.

4:32 PM> derek get over here i 

found some information on 

that purple ooze in the gym

I’ll be right there< 4:57 PM

. . .

When Derek arrived at the Stilinski house, scratching furiously, Stiles hopped out from behind the bushes with a hose.

“We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

Derek sighed heavily and put his hands on his face. Then he scratched behind his ear.

“Don’t even try to put me off.” Stiles said, “You are literally scratching right now.”

Derek groaned. 

Stiles lowered the hose. 

“I–is something wrong? Why are you being so weird about this?” Stiles asked. 

“There’s a certain level of . . . intimacy to giving someone a flea bath.” Derek said. 

Stiles made a face. 

“Not sexual!” Derek added, “It’s more like. I don’t know. It’s something that only someone in your family would do, and I haven’t– it’s been a long time since–”

Stiles looked stricken, then sad, and then he schooled his expression into something neutral, even if he couldn’t hide the way he smelled. 

“I have no idea what that must be like for you,” he said, “but you need to take care of this. Come on, I have an inflatable pool in the backyard. I promise not to make it weird. Or, you know, as unweird as I am capable of making it.”

Derek nodded slowly, and let Stiles grab him by the wrist and pull him into the house. 

“Don’t worry about my dad, he’s on a case. You can change in the bathroom. I’ll get the water going.” Stiles said.

Derek hung his jacket on the coat rack and headed upstairs. Five minutes later, he came trotting down on four paws and headed out into the back yard. Stiles was waiting with a pool full of soapy water, towels, and some combs. 

“Climb on in, the water’s great!” he said, splashing at the surface with his hands. 

Derek walked over hesitantly and dipped a front paw in the water. It was cold, but it was 80 degrees out and he was covered in fur, so he climbed in and sank down into the water. 

Stiles used a plastic cup to pour water over him. 

“I’m going to make a ring of suds around your neck.” Stiles said. 

He poured dish soap into his hands, and began scrubbing. 

“You know, I did some research on fleas.” Stiles said, “It turns out that fleas have this exoskeleton that lets them float. The dish soap somehow destroys their exoskeleton, so they drown in the water.

Anyway, I was watching a video on flea baths on youtube. It was helpful, but also, like. The lady in the video was bathing a kitten small enough to fit in her hand in a sink. So clearly the situation is different. Anyway, I have to start by making a ring of soap around your neck so that the fleas won’t come up and get in your eyes and nose. I mean, yuck–”

Derek found himself melting into Stile’s touch, the dulcet sound of his lecture on fleas soothing him into a doze.

It really had been a long time, hadn’t it?

After a time, Stiles’ voice cuts through his drowsiness. 

“Alright, stand up.” he said.

Once Stiles had scrubbed his entire body with soap, he pats the grass and says,

“Alright, hop out. I’m going to hose you off.”

As soon as the water ran clear, Derek walked out of the stream and shook the water from his coat all over Stiles. 

“Hey! Cut it out!” Stiles said, blasting him with the hose.

Derek lept, carefully, gently, onto Stiles, knocking him on the grass, and shook again. 

“Enough! Enough!” Stiles said, choking on laughter, “Let me get the comb!”

He clambered off of Stiles, who lay in the grass taking deep breaths for a moment before he struggled to his feet and grabbed the towels and comb. 

“Get over here you fluffy menace.” he said. 

He towelled Derek down and began running the comb through his fur. Occasionally he stopped to pick fleas from the teeth and toss them in a bucket of soapy water.

“Ok, roll over,” Stiles said. 

Derek gave Stiles a look, but did as he asked. 

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, running the comb through the fur on Derek’s stomach, “You are so fluffy! Would it be weird if I gave you a belly rub?”

Derek rolled his eyes, but relaxed and nuzzled at Stiles hand as if to say “if you must.”

Stiles grinned and went back to combing Derek’s fur, petting it gently back down.

At that moment, they heard the gate creak. It was the Sheriff, dragging the trash bins back behind the house. 

“Hey Stiles did you–.” He looked up and stopped short. “Is that a wolf? Where did that giant dog come from? Why are you giving it a bath?”

Derek could practically hear the gears grinding away in Stiles’ head and braced for impact, but for once, Stiles managed to come up with a reasonable lie. 

“Hi dad, this big guy showed up at Deaton’s. He and Scott were super busy today, and since he’s such a softie,” He punctuated his words by scritching under Derek’s chin, “I offered to give him a flea bath.”

“. . . Okay.” Said the Sheriff, suspicious, but unable to find any reason to doubt Stiles’ word.

He went into the house. 

“Okay,” Stiles whispered, “Be cool. Be cool be cool be cool.”

Derek was enjoying the combing and belly rubs too much to care. 

After a while, the Sheriff came back out of the house with a funny look on his face. He radiated fear, concern, and love. 

“Are you done with the flea bath?” he asked, masking his feelings well, but not well enough to hide them from Derek. 

“Yeah, just drying him off.”

“When you’re done, let’s drive him back to Deaton’s.” 

Stiles frowned, sensing something amiss.

“Okay Dad.”

Ten minutes later, Derek hopped into the back seat of the jeep while the Sheriff got in the passenger side. 

The first fine minutes were tense and silent. Stiles knew his dad had something to say, and was on edge with anticipation. The Sheriff knew he had to say something, but wasn’t sure how to put it into words. 

. . . 

“So what did you–?”

“Son, I–.”

They fell silent. 

“You go first.” said Stiles. 

“No, what were you saying?” asked the Sheriff. 

“I was just going to ask what you were going to say.” said Stiles. 

“Ah. Okay.” The Sheriff dithered with the glove compartment for a moment and then said, “Son, I’ve noticed you’ve been hanging around with that Hale boy – that Hale guy a lot lately.”

“Uh, yeah. I guess I have.” said Stiles.

They sat in silence for another moment. 

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he?” the Sheriff said. 

Stiles shot him an incredulous look. 

“I’m just saying!” saif the Sheriff. “Believe it or not, I was young once too. I understand he has that older bad boy appeal, but Stiles, he’s six years older than you. You’re in highschool.”

Stiles’ heart started beating triple time. 

“What are you implying dad?” he squeaked.

“Son are you dating Derek Hale?”

Stiles turned his head and stared at the Sheriff, his face crimson. 

“I am BEGGING you to shut up dad!”

He drifted to the right and almost hit the guard rail. 

“Stiles! Stiles!” the Sheriff shouted, pumping the imaginary breaks vigorously. 

“Shit!”

“Stiles!”

“Sorry!!”

Stiles got back onto the road. 

After a moment of tense silence, the Sheriff spoke again. 

“What I’m trying to say is–“

“Not in front of the dog dad!”

“What I’m trying to say,” the Sheriff continued, more loudly, “is that I hope you know you can come to me about anything. I know I’ve been working late a lot lately, and you seem to have made a lot of new friends. Which is great! But I hardly know what you’re up to anymore.”

“I—dad, there’s nothing going on, I swear. Derek is. Derek is a friend.”

The Sheriff paused for a moment. 

“I believe you,” he said, “I just wanted to talk about it.” 

They spent the rest of the drive in silence. 

. . .

Deaton raised his eyebrows, but otherwise maintained his composure, when Stiles and the Sheriff brought Derek in. 

Stiles looked at him beseechingly and said “He’s been cleaned and deflead!” 

Deatom nodded. 

“Thank you Stiles.” He said.

Scott excused himself and left the room. Derek could hear him laughing hysterically into some kind of fabric a few rooms away. He made a mental note to bite him somewhat ungently the next time they met. 

. . . 

Of course, his clothes and his phone are still at Stiles’ house. He waits a few hours, until the Sheriff will probably be gone, and goes back.He hops from a rock, to a tree, to the roof, and raps his fingers against Stiles’ window. 

After a moment, Stiles pushes the window up. He peers out at Derek. 

“I um. I’m sorry about earlier,” he said. 

Derek remembered what it was like to be 16. The excruciating self consciousness, the sensitivity to embarrassment. 

“It’s nothing,” he said. 

Stiles looked grateful, and stepped back to let him into the room. 

“You can take a shower? If you want?” he said, gesturing towards the bathroom, “I threw your clothes in the wash. They’re drying now, I’ll run down to get them in a minute.”

. . . 

Derek washed the worst of the dirt off and combed the burrs from his hair. He was drying his hair with a towel when he heard Stiles knocking at the door. He reached his hand out, and took the dryer warm clothes, and closed the door. 

“Thanks.” he said. 

There was a pause, and then Stiles said, 

“I hope that wasn’t too awkward. I mean, what with the uh. Everything.” he said nervously. 

“Thank you,” Derek replied, “It was . . . thank you.” 

“And for the record,” he said, “I don’t date teenagers.” 

He could smell Stiles blushing through the door. He made a strangled noise and said,

“Yeah, uh. Good life choices!”

He coughed awkwardly. 

“So we’re good?” He asked.

“Yeah, we’re good.” Derek said. 


End file.
